


The Adventure Of The “Gloria Scott” (1874)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary CLX [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, Framing Story, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oxford, Theft, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Case 1: Watson meets Holmes for the first time - in the dark and on the floor! There is a run of thefts at a small Oxford college, which ends in a most shocking act, and an abrupt end to their first days together.Dedicated to the late, great Tisha_Wyman. Thanks for all the kudos and kind words.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tisha_Wyman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisha_Wyman/gifts).



> Contrary to what many believe, there is no single 'Oxford University'. In both English university cities, the term applies to a number of independent colleges, each of which grants university degrees.

One of the hardest things about the man I love – kindly get your mind out of the gutter, if you please! - is that he is invariably rough on himself. Sherlock considered this case one of his few failures, even though he indubitably solved it. It was the actions of others, putting money and status before doing what was right, which hit him hard, although they paid a belated price for their actions. And I met the love of my life, so it was not all bad.

+~+~+

I must have fallen asleep on the comfortable train – thank Heaven (or at least Sir Charles Holmes) for enabling me to travel the whole way in first-class – because I woke to find the gentleman opposite me gently shaking me awake. In a way I was quite glad, as I had been having the most disturbing dream about somewhere that looked as if a whole load of red and black paint had exploded and then promptly caught fire. And there had been pain....

“Sir?” he said, looking worried at having woken me. “We are approaching Oxford, our last stop until Birmingham. I do not know if this is your destination, but I did not wish you to miss it.”

I covered up a yawn, and thanked him. It would have been awkward to have travelled on all the way to Birmingham, and to then have to explain to Stamford that I had nodded off on the train. I thought that my fellow passenger looked vaguely familiar from somewhere, but he had retreated behind his newspaper now, so I started gathering my things together.

Stamford was waiting for me on the platform (evidently he knew me well enough to have foreseen the possibility of my napping at the wrong time), and we took a cab to his small but well-kept quarters at the college. Or at least partially well-kept; one side of the room was fairly tidy, but the other side looked as if a tornado had passed through it, and then passed back again. He saw my surprise – I knew how tidy-minded he had been back in Northumberland - and laughed.

“I have my own bedroom, but share this room with Holmes”, he explained. “He is… a little eccentric, and he uses it a lot as he does not sleep much, but he is good at heart. He is out now, most probably at the library.”

“He is a tolerable room-mate, then?” I asked. Stamford had mentioned in a second letter that his room-mate tended to be a little disorganized, but this was some way beyond that. My friend smiled.

“He is actually the only fellow who had never objected to me playing the pipes”, he smiled, gesturing towards the set of Northumbrian bagpipes on the chair (I thought wryly that their presence might explain why the suite was so isolated from the rest of the rooms). “But to be fair, he does play the violin himself. Very well, I might add.”

“Well, musical interludes apart, I am looking forward to some peace and quiet during my time here”, I said, collapsing into a fireside chair. “The funeral and sorting out the estate were some way beyond trying, considering that we had so little. Thank heavens I had Sir Charles behind me; he sent his own lawyer up to spend a week sorting everything out.”

“You are welcome here”, my friend said, sitting down opposite me. “I am fairly sure that you will have a quiet enough time, unless of course our mystery thief strikes again.”

I looked at him in surprise?

“Thief?” I asked.

“Yes”, he said. “It has all been very strange. But you don't want to hear about....”

“Tell me about it”, I urged, as he folded his long, spindly limbs into a chair.

“I thought that you wanted peace and quiet?” he said, raising an eyebrow at me. 

I pouted at him, and he laughed. 

“All right”, he said, standing up. “I will make us both a coffee – it's good that Holmes doesn't mind me using his things provided I tell him when we're running low; believe me, you don't want to see him when he's minus his morning beans! – then I shall tell you all about it.”

+~+~+

“Queens was the first incident, about three weeks ago”, my friend said, sipping his coffee. “Someone broke into their library and stole a copy of a book about Greek naval warfare. Not a very valuable one, which was odd; there were much more expensive books there for the taking. But the thief only took the one, and did not even try to hide the fact. The gap that they left on the shelves was quite obvious.”

“Go on”, I urged.

“A week later, Corpus Christi got hit. Someone stole a small painting of an old-time Elizabethan warship from the museum storeroom. A bit more valuable, but more expensive things nearby were left untouched, and again, far from making any effort to hide the theft, they left the door of the cupboard the painting had been stored in wide open. Otherwise it might not have been spotted for ages.”

“It sounds as if they wanted the thefts to be spotted", I observed. "So there is a naval connection?”

“That was what the college authorities thought”, Stamford said, “and last week it looked like it was confirmed when they struck at Lincoln. Bolder, this time. A valuable silver tureen was taken from the main hall. It was decorated with a naval battle scene from the Punic Wars. Worth a pretty penny, I should say!”

“Bizarre!” I exclaimed. “Someone has a vendetta against the navy?”

“Holmes is sure he can work out who is doing it….” Stamford began, but stopped as there was a knock at the door, and a piece of paper was pushed under it. He went across to pick it up, and sighed in annoyance.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Professor Turnberry wants to see me about my course options”, he groused. “It is not even term time yet, but a visiting professor who was going to teach one of my subjects pulled out last week, and now he needs me to choose something else quickly. I thought that I had at least another week to decide.”

“You go”, I said. “I shall unpack, and freshen up whilst you are out.”

He nodded, and left.

+~+~+

It had already been getting dark when Stamford had left, and when he returned he saw me settled into the small spare room, which was basically a cupboard with pretensions. Still, it was clean, there was a bed, and I was tired. My meeting with my benefactor's son would have to be delayed; the absent Mr. Holmes had sent a note to say that he would most likely head down to Abingdon for some reason. Stamford had remarked that such behaviour was typical of the man. I slept soundly.

I woke up with a start, and realized that it was still dark, the room partly lit by the moonlight coming through the thin curtain. I wondered what had woken me, until I heard the sound of someone in the main room. It could not be Stamford – the man could sleep through an apocalypse – and nor could it be the absent Holmes blundering about in the dark (there was no light coming through my door), so who was it? Grabbing my walking-stick as a makeshift weapon, I made for the door.

There was a figure moving around the writing-desk, where I knew Stamford kept his wallet. I bit back a growl and moved stealthily towards the man...

The next moment I felt the stick wrenched from my hand and I was thrown to the floor, hitting it with a loud thud. The intruder was on top of me, and despite my struggles – I had measured that he was slightly shorter than me – was easily holding me down. I managed a manly sque... call for help, and was mightily relieved when, miracle of miracles, Stamford staggered out of his bedroom. He looked like death warmed up, but he would save me from....

“Holmes?”

Oh.

The figure pinning me down was off me before I realized, and I tried to get my breath back and to maintain what little dignity I had left. Which, I suspected, was not much.

“You must be Doctor Watson”, 'Holmes' said, and he had a growl that totally belied his stature. “Why did you attack me?”

“Me attack you?” I said hotly. “You were the stranger creeping round the apartment in the dark!”

“Holmes does not like bright lights”, Stamford said, the beginnings of a smile creasing his face (I just knew that he would get a whole lot of mileage out of teasing me over this). “Besides, he has excellent night vision. As I think you just found out the hard way!”

I pouted (it was not a sulk), and pulled myself to my feet. My attacker was a short, scruffy fellow, and I felt in some way that I had seen him before somewhere. Possibly on a park bench somewhere, from his bedraggled appearance.

“Bed!” Holmes said sourly. “My trip to Abingdon was fruitless, and I managed to catch a goods train back.”

He slouched off to what was presumably his room, and banged the door behind him. Stamford grinned.

“Well”, he said, “you certainly made an impression! And on the floor, too.”

I followed my attacker's example and stormed off to my room, ignoring the chuckle from behind me.

+~+~+

My next lesson in all things Holmes came rather too few hours later at breakfast. I was only half-awake and sat at the dining-table when Stamford brought in a tray. I looked at him in surprise.

“The servants bring round the food”, he said, “but Holmes is horrible if he does not have his coffee first thing. Especially after a late night out.”

“He cannot be that bad?” I said.

“Cof-fee!”

I jumped and let out what was definitely a manly expression of surprise, if possibly a somewhat high-pitched one. The scruffy attacker from the night before had somehow materialized behind me, and reached over to grab the mug of steaming coffee. I winced as he drank it straight down, somehow without setting his mouth on fire.

“I brought bacon too, Holmes”, Stamford said, far too chirpily for this time of morning. 

“Ba-con!”

I thought wryly that if the way to a man's heart truly was through his stomach, then Stamford had his room-mate figured out. Then I realized that a pair of ice-blue eyes were staring curiously at me, as if he could read my thoughts. 

It was cold in the room. That was why I shivered. Yes it was!

“And your Heinz ketchup”, Stamford said, passing him the bottle. 

“Good man!” Holmes grunted. 

“What happened to your eye?” I asked politely. My night attacker was sporting what looked like a small shiner. 

“Lord Rushcliffe happened”, he said dryly. “Fortunately he and his two cronies came off much worse.”

Stamford whistled through his teeth.

“You don't want to be upsetting the Proudfoot Club, Holmes”, he said warningly. 

“What is the Proudfoot Club?” I asked wonderingly. 

“It is a club for those with more money than sense”, Holmes said crisply. “I was investigating as to whether or not they were behind the recent outbreak of crime in the colleges, and Lord Rushcliffe took exception to my questions.”

“He was hardly going to admit to it”, Stamford pointed out. “You think that he was behind all three thefts?”

“Four”, Holmes corrected.

“Four?” Stamford echoed. Holmes looked at him grimly.

“The Gloria Scott”, he said meaningfully.

I knew not what he meant by those three words, but my friend looked as if he had been pole-axed.

“No!” he gasped.

I looked between the two of them, annoyed at being out of the loop.

“What is going on?” I demanded.

Holmes turned back to me.

“That”, he said crisply, “is precisely what I am endeavouring to find out.”

+~+~+

“Bargate is one of the newest colleges”, Stamford explained to me some time later, having steadied his nerves with a large brandy. “It was founded as a very small place fifty years ago, and only reached its present size and status thanks to the generosity of one Mr. Solomon Beaumont-Carew, who made his fortune in shipping. He started out as a maritime pilot – the men who guide ships into and out of harbour – and still did the job occasionally even when he owned his own fleet of ships. He had a large family, towards whom he grew increasingly distrustful as he grew older. He died ten years ago, and his will left everything he possessed to be divided between the college, which got two-thirds of the estate, and his three daughters, who shared one-third equally. They would have contested it, I am sure, but a proviso in the will meant all of them would lose their entitlement if just one failed in such a challenge, and they were clearly advised not to risk it, either for reason of cost or limited chance of success.”

“I see”, I said, as Holmes wandered back into the room and sat down at the table. “So who is this “Gloria Scott”? One of the daughters?

“No”, Stamford said. “One of the terms of the bequest was that he also left the college a scale model of the first ship he owned, a brigantine of that name. He had it made especially, and of course it has a small model of himself in the bridge. The terms of the will were unusual; the college only got the interest from the capital sum for twelve years, after which they got the remaining money as a lump sum. But there was a proviso; they had to keep the model safe, and display it in the Main Hall. If it was lost or stolen, then all the moneys went to his three daughters. And since his brother Viscount Cropwell married the eldest of those daughters last year, Eustace Rushcliffe has what you might call an interest in making sure that such a theft happened.”

“Except that it has not happened.”

We both turned to look at Holmes, who was sat there with a ridiculous curved pipe (unlit) in his mouth. He stared back at us.

“Parkinson, the watchman, nearly caught the thief crossing the quadrangle”, he explained. “The man dropped the model and fled. It has been damaged, but it is repairable.”

“So the theft failed?” I asked.

“Possibly”, Holmes mused. “I am still investigating the case.”

“I suppose they took the model to Wentworth?” Stamford said.

“Who is Wentworth?” I queried.

“The go-to chap for cleaning and repairing such stuff”, Stamford explained. “He did a great job putting that frightful Renaissance painting to rights, especially as it was dog-ugly to begin with.”

I smiled at that. Stamford had never had any appreciation of art.

“He has to put himself to rights, first”, Holmes said. “Thomas Wentworth was struck down in the food poisoning incident at dinner the night before last, along with twenty other people. I talked to his brother immediately after the theft, and he will not be able to work on the model for another week at least.”

“Coincidence?” I ventured.

“If it was not, then it has not helped the thieves”, Holmes said. “The college has had a new safe installed in the Main Hall today, and the model has been locked away there. It is far less accessible than it was before.”

“A strange case all round”, I said.

“Indeed”, Holmes agreed. “I am sure that we have not heard the last of this matter.”

His words were to prove strangely prophetic.

+~+~+

A week passed, and I enjoyed touring the sights of Oxford. Stamford had a major essay to write, so he jotted down some suggestions as to places I might wish to see, and I generally just enjoyed walking around the city of dreaming spires in the late summer sun. I saw little of Holmes, but my friend assured me that he was 'on the case', whatever that meant. 

I was sat in one of the fireside chairs when Holmes returned from wherever he had been.

“Where is Stamford?” he asked, removing his jacket as he crossed to his room.

“He is seeing one of his professors”, I said. “I think it is about the essay that he is writing. 

Holmes nodded, and to my surprise continued to disrobe until he was bare-chested. I had never considered the male form outside of my professional interests before, but I had to admit that he was surprisingly muscular for someone of his stature. True, the room was warm, but sitting there bare-chested with another gentleman in the room – well, it was Just Not Done. I really had to say something.

+~+~+

I was still choosing my words some half an hour later when Stamford returned. 

“They've struck again!” he said as soon as he was through the door.

I looked up, interested.

“The naval thief?” I asked.

“Yes!” he said. “And this time they struck it rich. Six gold bars, recovered from a sunken Spanish galleon in Cornwall, were on display at Exeter, and got taken! Someone broke into the library in the small hours of the morning, and whilst the watchman was chasing them off, the real thieves struck at the Main Hall!”

“Five things now”, I mused, looking across at my bare-chested room-mate. “I wonder if the great Mr. Holmes will be able to solve this case after all.”

“I already have.”

I stared at him in shock.

“How can you know who it was?” I demanded. 

“It is quite simple”, he said dryly. “Once one has eliminated the impossible, then what remains, however improbable, must be the answer.”

“Anyone could do that!” I snapped. He looked at me, and I could see his barely concealed disbelief.

“Really?” he said, a slight smile creasing the corners of his eyes. “Well, I wish to re-interview those parties involved tomorrow before presenting my findings to the College Board. You are welcome to accompany me, Mr. Watson, and to see if you can reach the same conclusions that I have.”

I glared at him.

“It's a date!” I said hotly, ignoring my friend's barely suppressed snigger. I knew what I meant. And he was still sat there half-naked!

+~+~+

Our first interview the following day was with Parkinson, the Bargate watchman. He was a grizzled old war veteran in his late fifties; I had to admit that I was surprised that he opened up to young Holmes so much. The fellow showed us where the thief had got in, and answered all of my companion's questions quite readily. 

“You cannot possibly think that he was involved”, I said as we left. “The man has a medal for serving in the Crimea!”

“A medal does not pay the bills”, Holmes said sonorously. “You noticed, of course, that he has a second job to help clear his debts?”

I stared at him in confusion.

“How do you know that?” I demanded. “And what debts?”

“He works on the site where they are building the new block for Queens”, Holmes explained. “The building is being constructed of Chilmark stone, the dust from which is quite distinctive. And there is a tally marker partly hidden under some papers on his desk, which means that he must owe someone a considerable amount. Money, or the lack thereof, often provides an excellent motive for crime.”

I looked dubiously at him.

“Queens was where the first theft happened, wasn't it?” I recalled.

Holmes smiled knowingly.

“Indeed!” he said. “Let us see the estimable Lord Rushcliffe, and see if we can lower your regard for the English nobility somewhat.”

+~+~+

I had always looked up to the nobility, but I found myself taking an immediate dislike to the Earl of Hallamshire's second son. He was in his late thirties, blond and ruddy-faced, and made no secret of his displeasure at our visit. 

“Holmes again!” he sneered. “And you've brought a new lap-dog!”

“I had one final question for you”, Holmes said politely. “Of course, if you would rather I go straight to the College Board....”

He stopped, allowing the threat to hang in the air. The nobleman paled.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“The runner, or the cook?”

I stared at Holmes in confusion, though I did not miss how the nobleman went even paler at his question.

“The runner”, he muttered.

“Thank you”, Holmes smiled. “That was all I wanted to know.”

“Go to hell!”

Holmes made what was obviously an insincere bow, and led the way out. I scuttled after him.

“What was all that about?” I asked, bewilderedly.

“The food poisoning of an entire table is apposite to the case”, the man said, striding quickly along. Then he stopped, so suddenly that I nearly ran into him. “Any deductions so far, Constable Watson?”

I frowned at the appellation.

“I wonder why an earl's son, and for that matter someone of his age, should be at college in the first place”, I said. “He does not strike me as the studious type.”

He looked at me as if I was a performing dog that had just executed a difficult trick.

“A good observation, and pertinent to the case”, he said. “Follow that thought through, and see where it leads you. Come. We have two more calls to make.”

+~+~+

I felt completely out of place in the lawyer's office, a feeling not helped by the fact that Holmes once more seemed to fit in perfectly. I guessed that his name had opened up this particular door to him, though I could not help marvel again at how the man could turn on the charm. Mr. Nicholas Broadribb (an inapt name as he was positively cadaverous) was sat opposite us, ferreting through a number of legal papers.

“You are aware”, he said pompously”, that I am of course unable to divulge the precise details of the late Mr. Solomon Beaumont-Carew's estate? Even if the general terms of the will are common knowledge.”

Holmes nodded his assent.

“That is not the reason for my call”, he said. “I know that you were the person who drew up the last will and testament of Mr. Beaumont-Carew. What I wanted to ascertain was your opinion about a certain aspect of it.”

He handed over a piece of paper to the lawyer, who unfolded it and read it. Then he almost jumped out of his comfortable chair.

“How did you know?” he demanded, staring at Holmes as if the man were some kind of wizard. The man smiled.

“I did not”, he said. “I deduced. From your reaction, it appears that I deduced quite correctly. Thank you for agreeing to see us, sir. We will take up no more of your valuable time.”

He ushered me out. Once outside, I turned to glare at him.

“So the theft was to deprive the college of the bequest, after all?” I asked.

“The theft was aimed at achieving but one thing, and it succeeded in that aim”, Holmes said. He looked at his watch. “We must hurry. Our last call goes to dinner in thirty-five minutes.”

I did not bother to ask him how he knew that.

+~+~+

The offices of Mr. Thomas Wentworth, Esquire. A small, dark-haired man in his forties bade us enter, and introduced himself as Joseph Wentworth, brother to the invalid.

“Do you have any more questions for me, Mr. Holmes?” he asked politely.

“Just the one”, Holmes said. “Did they bring the model over earlier this evening?”

“Yes, sir”, the man said firmly. “My brother is well enough now to start work on it first thing tomorrow.”

“Good”, Holmes said. “Tonight I want you to place it in plain sight in the main room.”

Mr. Joseph Wentworth went pale.

“Sir, you don't think....”

“I do not think, Mr. Wentworth”, Holmes said firmly. “ I know. I appreciate that your brother is not fully recovered, but it is imperative that the two of you spend the night elsewhere. I believe you have a third brother, Walter, who lives in the city. You must stay with him, and not return until after sun-up tomorrow.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And I shall see you at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon”, Holmes said firmly. “Be sure that you are ready.”

“I will, sir.”

Holmes hustled me out of the room before I could say anything.

“What on earth is going on?” I asked.

“There is going to be a lot of fuss tomorrow”, he said brusquely. I thought that he looked almost sad for some strange reason. “I shall speak with the College Board at around three o'clock. I would like to talk to you about the case afterwards, say around five o'clock in our room. Would that be acceptable?”

“Oh”, I said. “Yes. Acceptable. Yes.”

“Good”, he smiled.

“You know who did it?” I asked.

“Of course”, he said. “That is the easy part. Ensuring justice for those involved, however..... that will be rather more difficult.”

+~+~+

Stamford took me around the Oxford shops the following day, and as he had an appointment in town that same evening, I returned to the college alone, arriving only a few minutes before five. Opening the door, I was shocked to see two packed cases there. For a moment I thought that this might be an unsubtle way of my being asked to leave, before realizing that the cases were not mine. As I stared, Holmes came through from his room, heaving another case.

“You are leaving?” I gasped.

“I must”, he said, his face dark. “The Board has left me with no option.”

“But why?” I asked, shocked. “You are halfway towards your degree. You cannot give up now!”

“I have no choice”, the man said acidly. “This morning, the four missing naval items were all found in Mr. Thomas Wentworth's quarters. He and his brother have been instructed to leave the college by nightfall, or face prosecution.”

“Then they were guilty!” I exclaimed. 

Holmes looked at me almost pityingly, before checking his pocket-watch. 

“I have ten minutes before my cab is due”, he said resignedly. “I suppose that I can use it to explain the case to you.”

I sat down eagerly.

“I am all ears!” I said.

He looked confused at the expression, but sat down opposite me.

“The whole case revolves around the will of the late Mr. Solomon Beaumont-Carew”, he began. “Once I knew that Lord Rushcliffe's brother was married to his eldest daughter, I suspected his involvement.”

“But how do you know that?” I demanded.

“Mr. Broadribb confirmed my suspicion that, upon disposal, the estate of the late Mr. Beaumont-Carew was considerably smaller than had been anticipated”, Holmes explained. “At the time, this was considered due to what I now believe to be a false paper trail of poor investments. It is my belief that the man disliked his family sufficiently to convert the better part of his estate into a form which could elude their grasps. Mr. Broadribb confirmed for me that, over the months before his death, he made several trips to London. It is my belief that he used those trips to buy diamonds.”

“Why diamonds?” I asked.

“He had to get a lot of money out of the house in a small space”, Holmes said. “A small space as in part of a model of an old sailing ship....”

“The “Gloria Scott!” I exclaimed. He smiled at my boyish enthusiasm. 

“Indeed”, he said. “I am only conjecturing, but I believe that he must have sent a communication to the dean of the college alerting him to the true value of his strange bequest. I reason thus because it chanced that the dean was taken ill on the same day that Mr. Beaumont-Carew died, and himself passed on two days later. Hence the 'gift' went undetected.”

“And all that time the diamonds were out there on open display!” I exclaimed. “Anyone could have taken them!”

Yes”, Holmes said. “I do not know how, but in some way the eldest daughter, now Mrs. Wallis, must have recently become aware of the subterfuge. Most probably a former servant talked, or was paid to talk. Her brother-in-law applied here – hardly a first choice for such a noble family, let alone someone so clearly unsuitable to college life – presumably planning to stay for as long as it would take to retrieve the diamonds. It was he who engineered the spate of thefts of which the model was just one.”

“Where would one hide a leaf but in a forest”, I muttered.

“Exactly”, he said. 

“But how did you know all this?” I demanded.

“Deduction, mostly”, he said. “After all, there were several clues.”

“Such as?” I prompted.

“Well, the fact that an agile young thief, whom you may remember we had been told could vault an eight-foot wall, dropped the model and fled when confronted by an aged and unarmed watchman”, he said. “Lord Rushcliffe had realized that the diamonds had to have been hidden inside the model. And removing the roof of the ship's bridge allows one to access the figure of the pilot, the late Mr. Beaumont-Carew, which when pressed back releases a secret compartment lock. The plan was to remove the diamonds, allow the model to be sent to the Wentworths for repair, carry out a fifth robbery, and then plant the other stolen items on the brothers for the authorities to 'find'. That was why I made sure that the Wentworths were elsewhere when the 'set-up occurred; I did not want to risk them getting hurt.”

“Evil!” I shuddered. “And that bastard has got away with it.”

To my surprise, Holmes shook his head.

“Not at all”, he smiled dourly. “Lord Rushcliffe is doubtless feeling very pleased with himself just now, but he has severely underestimated the late Mr. Beaumont-Carew. As he will realize when he tries to sell them, the diamonds in the ship's hold are all imitation ones.”

I stared.

“But how could you know that?” I asked.

Holmes looked at me as if I was being uncommonly slow, before apparently reaching a decision.

“You are a good man, Doctor Watson”, he said slowly, “so I am going to entrust you with a secret. Lord Rushcliffe was correct that the model was the key to the missing money. Do you remember the very solid display plinth that the ship was on?”

I nodded.

“The mechanism that 'locks' the ship to its plinth has a second setting”, he said, “one which reveals the real diamonds hidden inside the plinth. Not the ship itself.”

“So you have the real gems?” I asked.” He shook his head. 

“I was going to restore the diamonds to the college”, Holmes said, “but after the way they chose to treat the Wentworths, I had a change of heart. I came here from their rooms, and I left them a small souvenir of the college that has treated them so appallingly. Their new lives in the United States will be that much more comfortable now.”

“But why did the Board not expel Lord Rushcliffe?” I asked.

“They know that he is guilty, but he is the son of a leading member of the House of Lords”, he said. “The Wentworths, on the other hand, are deemed 'expendable'.”

I shuddered at that word.

“Justice”, Holmes said softly. “I do try to follow the law, but first I follow what is right.” His head titled to one side, and nodded. “That is my cab. I do hope that I shall see you again some day.”

I recovered enough to shake his hand and mutter a 'Godspeed', promising to inform Stamford of the reasons for his departure. He looked at me for a moment as he stood on the doorway, then formally left for his cab, shutting the door behind him. He was gone, and I wondered if we would ever meet again.

+~+~+

From Oxford to its deadly rival Cambridge. Barely a twelvemonth later I once more found myself staring into those impossibly blue eyes. Across two dead bodies.....


End file.
